


Fill Up The Spaces, Those Empty Places

by ladylikepunk



Series: In a soundtrack of history, breathing will be all the dust that I need [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Dating, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Mostly porn, early days still, maybe some plot if you look past the porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 17:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylikepunk/pseuds/ladylikepunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This fits in a little after <em> Two Atheists </em>, but doesn't really bear any relation to that story. It's just an excuse for me to write porn, really. </p><p>Title from Wild Flag's <em> Romance </em></p></blockquote>





	Fill Up The Spaces, Those Empty Places

When Maria had told Natasha to meet her outside the subway, and to dress comfortably, she hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect. Their last date had been in an Italian restaurant not far from the office; the one before that hadn’t happened at all, and their first _proper_ date had been drinks in a fairly quiet cocktail bar Natasha had almost been to on an op a few months back, and had remembered while trying desperately to think of somewhere to take Maria. Natasha does not count the few months before that as dating, because while she acknowledges that she is not exactly familiar with sexual relationships (outside of the necessary parameters of a field operation, where sex is just another weapon), she is nonetheless aware that there is a difference between _fucking_ and _dating_ , even if the end result is largely the same sticky mess.

Natasha is surprised by how much she wants this to work – how much she wants to be dating Maria, and not just fucking her occasionally, in secret, when they’re drunk or tired or horny or craving human contact but refusing to talk properly. The nervousness that results from her desire leaves her feeling wrong-footed – Natasha is rarely nervous. She suspects this is a good thing, really, although it does not feel good.

Their first two dates had gone well. Or had at least resulted in them going back to Natasha’s little flat and having the sort of sex she hoped they’d continue to have for a long time – mutually pleasurable, mildly exhausting, occasionally awkward, and with almost equal parts laughter, moaning, and murmured delight.

Maria Hill, Natasha discovers, is a different creature off-duty. At work, she is hard but more approachable than Fury; she nurtures those agents she takes an interest in (particularly women, because AD Hill has long-stated opinions on gender balance in SHIELD), and she is whip-smart and as good with a gun as she is on keeping SHIELD running as smoothly as possible. Out of work, once the leather catsuit (or the neat black tailored two-piece) comes off, she laughs, she swears loudly; she teases Natasha about her tea collection and makes terrible _your mum_ jokes. Which is not to say that AD Hill is a dull woman; she is anything except that - but Maria is one of those agents who deal best with the pressures of SHIELD by having a work persona.

 

 

Apparently it is only her work persona that is punctual.

Natasha is amused, and doesn’t mind that “nine thirty, on the dot,” has become a little after twenty to ten, because it is a rather beautiful summer’s evening, and she likes people-watching. The street is still busy, and she is unremarkable in her skinny jeans and ankle boots. A stranger has complemented her on her hair, which pleases her – she spent yesterday afternoon re-dying it after a brief week in the field. When Maria arrives – only fifteen minutes late – Natasha is surprised, and nervous, and out of place.

“Sorry,” Maria smiles, and kisses her briefly.

A man whistles. Natasha flips him off, then smiles slightly to see Maria doing the same, and kisses her again.

“You ready?” Maria asks, and she is nowhere near as poised as AD Hill was that afternoon; this evening she is tightly-wound, almost jittering, and Natasha wonders if she is nervous too. The thought pleases her.

“Where are we going?” Natasha asks, in part because she is curious, and in part because she needs to say something, because she feels out of place besides Maria, who looks as unlike AD Hill as she has ever done, even when stretched out naked in Natasha’s bed. She is wearing skin-tight jeans, rips in the thighs revealing flashes of the tattoos Natasha always forgets about, and more ink is revealed by her short-sleeved t-shirt; her boots are huge and scuffed and obviously ancient, with mismatched laces and what Natasha is pretty certain is several razor-slashes revealing the steel toecaps of the left one. Maria’s usually-sleek hair is styled in a bouffant quiff in the front, and she is wearing a slash of red lipstick that leaves Maria torn between kissing her and demanding to know where on earth she found that exact shade. Natasha has not seen this look before, and she is intrigued. And nervous.

“A little club I know,” Maria grins. “I did say we were going dancing. This way we’ll catch a band too.”

Natasha blinks, remembering a conversation over dinner last week about how she’d never been to see a band play live, not on an op, unless you counted the concert Phil had taken her to last year, when she’d discovered she hated jazz, or the open mic night at the bar favoured by SHIELD employees.

Maria looks a little uncertain now, so Natasha smiles, and leans to kiss her again, and links their fingers together. “Ok,” she says.

“We don’t have to,” Maria says.

“I want to. This is something you enjoy, and I might enjoy it too.”

 

 

On first impressions, Natasha isn’t sure if she’s going to enjoy this. The club is slightly tattered-looking, the doorman is brusque, but knows Maria, and only cards Natasha before waving them both in. The crowd within is a mixed bag, women of Maria’s age swigging beer from plastic cups alongside college age kids and grey-haired punks. Maria nods to a couple of people, but doesn’t stop to talk, grabbing Natasha’s hand and leading her to the bar at the back. The music is loud, a DJ playing at the front, her dreadlocks swinging as she bops about, and a few people are dancing, mostly women giggling and fooling about.

Natasha accepts the vodka and coke Maria pushes into her hands, and taps it against her beer bottle, and they lean against the bar that separates the bar area from the dance floor and watch the crowd.

“You ok?” Maria leans into Natasha to shout in her ear, her breath tickling.

Natasha nods, bumping shoulders, starting to relax now she’s used to the steady beat of the music, the flow of the crowd, which is loud but good-natured.

“Do you come here often?” She asks.

Maria grins. “Nat, lovely, you’ve already picked me up.”

Natasha sticks her tongue out.

“Not as much as I used to. But I used to come down every week once upon a time.”

“I didn’t imagine you in a place like this.”

Maria’s snort is inelegant, but she’s not mocking; she wraps an arm around Natasha’s waist and pulls her closer. “You never asked what I did in my spare time.”

“You didn’t bring it up. I decided that it was not important to you.”

“Liar.”

“You revealed enough that I thought you would object if I pried too much. And I saw no reason to,” Natasha shrugged, and Maria laughed at her. “You expected otherwise?”

“No,” Maria admitted. “I just – I didn’t realise you _hadn’t_ pried, to be honest.”

Natasha smiled, and laughed, relaxing further against Maria. “Tell me about this band.”

 

 

Later, Natasha lies against Maria, tracing the lines of her tattoos in the semi-darkness, and feels the thrum of the music still. She had been pulled into the crowd as the band played, and they had danced, but not the sort of dancing Natasha had been used to – the crowd jumped and flung itself about, moments from violence but never taking that last step into becoming a brawl. She’d found herself caught up in the excitement, in Maria’s laughter, in keeping her balance as the bodies around them surged and leapt and fell.

They had emerged hours later, sweaty and laughing, arms around each other, and they’d kissed passionately in the street, Maria’s quiff in disarray and her fingers tangling Natasha’s hair further. They’d hailed a cab, and curled up in the backseat despite the driver’s glare, then raced each other up the flights of stairs to Natasha’s front door, Maria grabbing Natasha breathlessly as they kissed while Natasha fiddled the key into the lock and pressed the disguised thumb-pad required to get her in the front door.

Natasha had briefly been grateful that Clint was on an op, starting to divest Maria of clothing the moment the lock snapped behind them, running greedy hands over her ribcage and mouthing her neck. Maria pushed her away, and bent to undo her laces, leaving Natasha to toe off her boots and lock the door properly. Maria grabbed hold of Natasha’s belt, and started pulling her towards the bedroom, throwing her onto the bed and laughing as she pulled her down on top of her.

Natasha grinned up at her, stretched up to nip at her lips and draw her into a messy kiss, shoving her hands under Maria’s waistband to pull her closer and dig her fingers into her arse, enjoying the way she hissed in pleasure and ground against Natasha, pushing a knee between her thighs, fighting back just enough to keep Natasha pushing to be in control. Natasha likes to be challenged, likes to feel that reaching orgasm is both a surrender and a victory; Maria has never not challenged her, and whenever they come together there is an undercurrent of power and negotiation.

Maria held her in place – Natasha let her, because this kind of surrender is a pleasurable one – and kissed her throat, sucked on her ear lobe for a moment, her breath behind Natasha’s ear making her squirm, a breathless giggle escaping for a moment, because her iron control of her emotions is slipping - she allowed it to slip, is relaxing because she has learnt to trust Maria in these moments. This trust has not stopped Maria from ruthlessly exploiting the knowledge that there is somewhere on her body that Natasha Romanov is ticklish, and she teased her, laughing.

 

 

They bumped heads when Maria decides it is time Natasha’s t-shirt and bra came off, and they pause for a moment, staring, gasping. Maria’s skin is almost olive against Natasha’s pallor, flushed slightly, and Natasha traced the line of an old scar, high and jittering across her ribs, a knife that never quite made it, felt Maria eyeing the bruise lingering on her hip from an awkward landing three days ago. She let herself hiss in pain when Maria touches it, because it does hurt, it _aches_ , but her fingers are soothing, gentle. Maria pressed a soft kiss into the bruise, then across her stomach, and Natasha rolled against her, ran a hand over what she can reach of her spine, breath huffing in pleasure as Maria licked up to her breast, nipped at the underside, deliberately ignoring how Natasha whined softly when she ignores her nipples, sucking a love bite into her ribs instead. Natasha does not enjoy being teased, but she thinks she might start to love it if Maria keeps this up.

Maria’s teeth at her nipple startled her, and she shoved at Maria’s head gently, making her grin up at her, Natasha’s almost-too-sensitive breast still grasped between her teeth, and she arched up into her, humming with pleasure, smiling as Maria reached to hold her hip still. Natasha reached between them for the buckle of Maria’s belt, undoing it one-handed, the other still holding Maria’s head tenderly. Maria wiggled, helping her shove her jeans off, and rolled off Natasha so she can do the same; she knows Natasha does not particularly enjoy being undressed (one too many half-remembered memories of a time Natasha knows is real but she has never found proof of all the events in her head).

They came together again the moment they were both naked; Maria pinned Natasha down again, kissing determinedly across her stomach and hips, nipped at a hipbone, smiled into skin as Natasha arched up at her, and parted her legs in demand. Natasha moaned delightedly as Maria pressed a kiss against her cunt, ran her fingers into her hair to hold her in place, cried out as her tongue opened her further, pressed inside her, retreated to flick against her clit. Maria hummed as Natasha’s hips twitched, as she resisted thrusting herself against Maria’s face, and their eyes met for a moment across the length of Natasha’s body, and Natasha smiled, her fingers tracing the edge of her breast, her toes echoing the movement against Maria’s hip. Maria bit at her clit, just the right side of hard, and pressed a finger into her as she cried out through a grin.

One finger became two, and Natasha could smell her own arousal, her growing pleasure, Maria’s answering excitement as she fucked her with fingers and tongue, her tongue flicking over Natasha’s clit as her fingers thrust and twisted inside her cunt, her wetness the only thing keeping the motions gentle, Natasha’s hips bucking into each thrust. Maria dragged her teeth across Natasha’s clit, dragging her into an orgasm; Natasha hissed in Russian, and Maria didn’t stop, fucked her through her clenched muscles and wordless cries, lapped at her folds and kept her on the edge until a second orgasm coiled through her, Natasha’s foot pressed against her hip, her fingers too tight in her hair.

Natasha dragged her up with those same fingers as her orgasm subsided, wrapped her arms around Maria, kissing her thoroughly, tasted herself, smiled. Maria could feel her pulse racing, and wrapped a leg around her and held her closely. Natasha kept smiling, left feeling languorous and almost light-headed, but conscious of more than herself enough to slide fingers between their bodies and rub at Maria’s clit to bring her to the orgasm she knew had been building; Maria comes even more quietly than she did, lips pressed into her shoulder, eyes tight, only the shudders of her spine giving anything away. Natasha loves her silence, and placed gentle kisses on her forehead, keeps her close, enjoying the warmth and softness and scent of their bodies, sweat and sex and the last of the perfume Natasha had dabbed on.

 

 

Now, Maria sleeps, soothed by Natasha’s fingers tracing over her inked form, their feet tangled together. More kisses had followed orgasms, slow and lazy without the desperation of lust; they had talked a little, sleepy and relaxed, about nothing in particular, until Maria had pulled the blankets off the floor (rolling her eyes at Natasha’s refusal to make her bed when she got out of it in the mornings) and snuggled down. Natasha had laughed, low and amused, and wormed her way next to her, only pulling away a little when Maria slept, watching through the small hours, wondering if she was supposed to feel this way.

**Author's Note:**

> This fits in a little after _Two Atheists_ , but doesn't really bear any relation to that story. It's just an excuse for me to write porn, really. 
> 
> Title from Wild Flag's _Romance_


End file.
